


Prospective Punishments for a Wayward Colonel

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty contemplates how to punish Moran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prospective Punishments for a Wayward Colonel

   Colonel Moran entered the room, hat still on, cigarette jammed between his teeth, but Moriarty did not bother to look at him. He didn’t want Moran to think he was so important that he would notice him straight away. Only when Moran was well inside the room did he finally enquire, “Where have you been?”  
  
   “Out.” Moran tossed his hat aside carelessly and threw himself down on the sofa.

  
   “Clearly,” Moriarty said dryly, setting down his pen. Slowly, calmly, he stood up and turned around. “Feet off,” he said, batting Moran’s booted feet.

   Grinning up at him, Moran swung his legs around and placed his feet on the floor with exaggerated carefulness. “Sorry, Professor.”

   Moriarty eyed his clothing, which was somewhat more dishevelled than it had been when Moran left. “You reek of sex,” he remarked.

   “Do I?” Moran said, apparently not much concerned about this.

   “If you are going to come home every night stinking of other men’s sin then you will be sleeping on the floor for the foreseeable future.”

   “Right sir.” Moran didn’t seem too bothered about this either. He’d slept in worse places.

   “Perhaps I should throw cold water on you also, like the randy tomcat you are.”

   “If you’re wanting me to take my clothes off you know you only need ask, sir; no need to go soaking my togs to get me out of them.” The colonel flashed him a wicked, crooked grin, and Moriarty suppressed the urge to slap the smirk off his face.

   “Perhaps…” he mused, “yes, perhaps I _should_ instruct you to remove your clothes.”

   Moran shrugged as he took the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke up into the air. “If you want.”

   “And then forbid you to put them on again for a week.”

   Moran’s hand faltered before he placed the cigarette back between his lips. “A week?”

   “Perhaps even two. You could hardly go out chasing other conquests without your clothes on, after all.”

   “Couldn’t go carrying out any of your business either.” Moran took another pull on his cigarette, confident that he had worked out the major flaw in Moriarty’s plan. “Not unless you want Scotland Yard to investigate the world’s first nude assassin. Imagine it, sir. ‘Madam, did you notice anything about the killer?’ ‘Well yes, now you mention it, he had rather a lot of scars on his body and also a bloody enormous-”

   “Yes, thank you Moran,” Moriarty interrupted sharply.

   “Weapon,” Moran finished.

   Moriarty groaned. “Go to bed, Sebastian,” he said.

  “Thought you said I was sleeping on the floor.”

   “Yes, well, go to the floor then.”

   “Right sir.” Moran bounded from the room with rather too much enthusiasm for Moriarty’s liking. It was only, however, when Moriarty finally retired to his bedroom and found Moran lying on the floor, without his blanket or any clothing, in a pose that could only possibly be described as ‘wantonly provocative’ that the professor realised why Moran had not argued with him.

   Moriarty stared at him. Moran, lying there with his arms casually folded behind his head now, looked back. Neither of them said anything, at least not aloud, although there was an exchange of raised eyebrows, sighs (that was Moriarty) and more smirking (Moran; definitely Moran). Moriarty swiftly re-evaluated the notion of ordering the colonel to remain in the nude for any length of time and realised that no, he really didn’t want to have to see Moran in all his glory for more than a few hours at most.

   “Fine, get in the bed,” he said. “ _Under_ the covers, my dear Moran.”

   Moran jumped up and obligingly slipped under the bedclothes.

   “I have decided against ordering you to remain naked,” Moriarty informed him as he got in beside the colonel.

   “That’s good sir; it _would_ be most impractical.” Moran settled his head down on the pillow. Moriarty’s bed was very much more comfortable than the floor, especially those lovely soft pillows. Although sharing a bed with the professor still made him a bit uneasy, it was nice, being in its warmth and softness. He rolled over on his side, his back to Moriarty, and closed his eyes contentedly.

   “I shall simply have to think up some other much more… _creative_ means of punishing you instead,” Moriarty said, his mouth close to Moran’s ear, just as Moran was dozing off. Moran’s eyes flew wide open at this remark and a cold shiver went down his spine.

   Now it was Moriarty’s turn to smirk.


End file.
